


Entropy

by bad_decisions



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Bottom Hux, Choking, Consensual Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kinda, Loss of Control, M/M, Painful Sex, Painplay, Penis In Vagina Sex, Restraints, Sensory Overload, Top Kylo Ren, Trans Character, Trans Hux, Trans Male Character, Violence, clitoral stimulation, effective use of kegel muscles, fucking/fighting, i mean they're still enemies, just also fucking, of a kind - Freeform, post-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_decisions/pseuds/bad_decisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren has a habit of wrecking things when the roiling in his head becomes too much to bear. It's as good a way as any to cope with the sickening call of the Light.<br/>Hux, as it turns out, needs exactly the sort of outlet Kylo can provide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entropy

**Author's Note:**

> B) B) B)  
> enjoy, my lil sinbuckets
> 
> EDIT: This fic depicts Hux, a trans man, receiving and enjoying vaginal penetration. If this is something you wouldn't be comfortable reading, you should probably click away now.

Hux pulls up the notification on his datapad – Ren has smashed his way out of a bacta tank. A lesser man might sigh. As if they need more damage, more costs, after the loss of Starkiller Base. As if more costs even _matter_ after the loss of Starkiller Base.

At least he’s awake now. Hux has some questions.

 

 

Kylo shoves the medical droid away, but it simply floats back, beeping  mournfully and trying to drape a blanket around his shoulders. He’s fine. It won’t help with the chill of his failure. Somehow, it _is_ a failure. Solo’s death has set him adrift, not rooted him in the Dark.

Whose idea had it been to put him in one of those infernal tanks? Did no one think leaving him to wake up in gunk, sedated and breathing through a tube, would end badly? (He didn’t know where he was. Thought the Resistance had him.)

“Lord Ren.” The voice, as clipped as its owner’s fingernails, comes from the door behind him.

Kylo seizes the blanket from the droid and stands, wrapping it around himself in pitiful semblance of his robe. The droid buzzes happily in his ear. He wants to swat the thing like a fly. His side aches. “Hux.” Of course the General couldn’t extend his superlative adherence to protocol to waiting until Kylo was properly dressed, lightsaber comfortably at his – he clenches his jaw. “Where is my lightsaber, General?”

Hux lets Kylo know he’s not impressed with a drag of his eyes, a tugging smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Not your usual colour, is it?”

The blanket’s bright orange. Additionally, Kylo _hates_ Hux. It’s a welcome feeling, the curdle of loathing in his belly to fight off whatever _sickness_ has overtaken his power. It’s not quite enough. It _should_ be. “What do you want?”

“A debriefing, if you would.” It’s not a request. Hux waits a bare second, shoulders stiff in his usual parade rest, before continuing, “I should inform you that Supreme Leader Snoke has requested your presence, as soon as you are recovered. In addition, we are still trying to determine the exact sequence of events that led to the fall of Starkiller Base…” The droid is trying to dress Kylo’s side, beeping away, ignorant of the tension building in his head. It wants him to go in another tank, from what he can make out; his focus is fading between the many inputs “… Phasma’s whereabouts? Also, the rogue trooper…”

Pain in his side, pain in his head, beeping, whirring, Hux talking and demanding answers. Kylo feels like the proverbial luggabeast, waiting for the straw that will break him. He tries to shout, to drown it all out. “My lightsaber, Hux!” Some of his volume is lost to a croak, his throat still abraded from the kriffing breathing tube. “Where is it?”

“I assume it was recovered along with you. How did you sustain your injuries?”

The stinging reminders of the scavenger girl slicing him across the face, of Chewie’s – of the wookiee’s bowcaster bolt to the side, come at the same time as the droid bobs up in front of his face with its kriffing little arms waving a tube of bacta. Kylo roars in frustration and the droid crumples with a small bleep, screens cracking and sparks flying as he hurls it into the wall.

Hux taps his foot. “If you are quite done destroying my equipment, you have yet to give me a single answer.”

Kylo can barely remember the questions, let alone find ways to answer them. Hux continues to blather, but Kylo hasn’t the strength or the clarity to form the sounds into words. Where are the words?

He’s spinning inside his own head, struggling to make sense of anything around him. He’s failed again, again, again, the base is destroyed, and the Light, the _Light –_

The Light calls like a hallucination to a spacer too long alone; it offers peace, complacency, an end to pain and anger, just step out, out into the nothingness and never feel anything again. Kylo doesn’t want nothing. The solution to pain is not to relax and feel _more_ of it, until it burns away the ability to feel at all. Without his lightsaber, he doesn’t – he can’t – there’s no way to release his frustration, his pain, on the world. There’s nothing to _destroy_ , no way to ease his suffering by inflicting it on others. It rises like bile in his throat and the Light is louder, promising to take it away –

He needs an outlet.

So he punches Hux in the face.

 

 

Hux reels back, clutching his bloodied nose and gritting his teeth against the pain. He hasn’t made a sound against his will in a decade and a half and doesn’t start now. It’s only blinding for a few seconds; adrenaline kicks in, and Hux’s head clears. Enough to straighten up, and glare at Ren. “How _dare_ you.” He grinds out the words, but his tone is low and steady. _One_ of them knows how to control himself.

This is far, even for Ren. He’s never laid a finger on Hux before. It speaks, Hux is sure, to Ren’s continued slip into insanity. He looks it, with that ridiculous blanket thrown over his medical pajamas, and his eyes glittering either side of the still-weeping gash across his face.

Hux turns to leave, trying to stem the bleeding with his sleeve. Nothing feels broken, but he will need to find a medical droid Ren hasn’t smashed before he returns to the bridge. If Ren will not co-operate, then Hux will simply wait.

Ren gives a wordless yell behind him, and Hux has his first head-on meeting with the Force as Ren flings him back into a wall with it. Winded, he hasn’t time to recover before Ren strides forward and grabs his chin. Some part of his brain has retained its order, and notes idly that Ren’s large hand is callused, and rough. The lunatic doesn’t even know how to moisturise.

Ren draws his other arm back, and Hux twists out of his grip. He’s not without self-preservation, and it’s clear that he needs to get away from this mess as quickly as possible. And then preferably send down a squad with bantha tranq guns. Even weakened and crazed as he is, Ren is absurdly strong.

He barely takes a step before he freezes against his will, unable to move, unable to breathe. Ren and his damnable _mind powers_ again. Hux can feel his pulse pounding against invisible fingers, warm and strong, crushing his airway and holding him where he stands. His nose bleeds freely, trickling into his collar. What in a thousand systems does Ren hope to achieve with this? He can feel the temptation to cower, to beg, and he spits in its face. Whatever Ren thinks he is, it will not bring Brendol Hux II down even an inch.

Ren floats Hux around to face him, and Hux grinds out, with the last of his air, “I haven’t got your bloody laser-sword. Stand _down_.”

Ren doesn’t react to Hux’s command. But without his helmet, his face is an open file, and Hux can _see_ that he was understood. If he doesn’t want his lightsaber, then what...? It clicks. Hux is merely the next instrument to be wrecked.

Ren drops him, and swings his arm back again, and Hux – Hux. Has had. Enough.

He catches Ren’s fist in his own, and wrenches it to the side. “Clearly you only understand one language, you _infant_.” Hux sends Ren crashing into the gurney with a vicious backhand, and stalks forward, breathing hard, light-headedness stripping away what finesse he had left. He never does this. It’s beneath him. It’s undignified, unrefined. It’s intoxicating.

Ren is smiling. Blood drips from his now-split lip, from the reopening wound across his nose, and yet the grin is full of twisted satisfaction. “It seems you speak it too, General.”

 

 

Kylo launches himself at Hux, tackling him to the floor. Hux knees him in the stomach and throws him off, and this, this is what he wanted, this is what he’d _craved_. Hux goes for his blaster and Kylo throws it across the room; Kylo grabs Hux by his lapels and Hux punches him, twice, hard, giving him a matching nosebleed, and it’s warmth and it’s passion and it’s fire and hate and life and rage and it drives the Light to the very edges of his consciousness and he needs _more_.

“Have you lost your mind completely?” Hux snarls. He knocks Kylo to the floor again with a sharp, clinical kick to the kneecap, and boots him in the side while Kylo’s still halfway through a yelp.

Hux doesn’t strike again, waiting while Kylo stumbles painfully to his feet. “Probably,” Kylo retorts, not at his most eloquent, and counters Hux’s belated punch with a knee to the crotch. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Hux only winces, and Kylo hates his kriffing control. Kylo wants to take him apart bit by bit and see him wrecked. Hear him make one _fucking_ sound he doesn’t mean to. Hux bares his crimson teeth in a savage smile and wrenches Kylo towards him by the neck of his shirt. Kylo can feel what Hux feels, and knows he needs this too. An outlet. Kylo is happy to provide, happy and able, with the power of the Dark now searing through his veins as it _should_ have in that forest.

A shame and a wonder it’s Hux here with him now. Hux the unflinching, he who mocks Kylo’s every struggle with his perfect hair and snide lips. How glorious it is to see what lies behind the mask. He needs more, more of this, more of Hux, but he doesn’t know how, what to do or where to take it.

Hux throws him into the wall and the flimsy neck of Kylo’s shirt rips wide open, he grabs Hux by the shoulders and flips them around, and Hux’s face is flushed and hot and Kylo sees  his eyes track over exposed skin and Kylo sees the hunger and – _oh_.

 

 

Ren goes very still. Hux doesn’t realise why, distracted and entranced by a rivulet of blood – his or Ren’s? – making its way over the sharp line of Ren’s scarred collarbone. “Hux,” Ren says. Hux looks up, but his gaze only makes it as far as Ren’s lips. He reaches out a gloved hand, tracing over them with his thumb. It comes away shining red. Hux stares at it a moment, licks the leather clean, finally raises his eyes to look into Ren’s.

“I loathe you,” Ren whispers hoarsely, pupils dilated and eyes wide.

 _I know_ , Hux is about to say, but Ren crushes them together and kisses him before he can. It’s a violent thing, no control, like Ren himself, all teeth and desperate force.

Hux smacks him, and it knocks Ren sideways. He considers the other man for a moment, considers _this_ , but he’s too far gone already to deny himself yet another want. Just as Ren’s eyes start to flicker uncertainly, Hux wraps his fingers around Ren’s throat, and kisses him back.

Ren groans, and winds a large hand into Hux’s hair. Hux bites deep into Ren’s split lip and his mouth floods with copper. Red drips and smears down their chins. Hux can feel excitement thrumming through him, in ways, to places, that he has not allowed it for years. His blood is up, making it a mere extension of their fight to tear off the remains of Ren’s shirt, and force his tongue into Ren’s insolent buggering mouth.

Ren retaliates with a thigh shoved between Hux’s, grinding them together through their clothes. Hux notes Ren’s growing erection with pleasure – simple enough to decide what will go where, then, whatever ridiculous notions they have on some planets about being fucked. He’s pulsing already, can feel his underwear growing damp beneath his uniform. Not realising it’s the weaker move until too late, Hux is the first to thrust his hips forward, the first to shudder with his body flush against the other’s.

 

 

Hux is slipping, breaking. Kylo feels it in each of his shaking breaths. He’s sinking down to what he thinks of as _Ren’s level_ , but the urge was there all along. All Kylo has done is let it out and soon chaos will rule them both and his head will be _clear_.

Kylo’s sweat-sheened chest rubs over Hux’s jacket. The rough sensation is unbearable, as is the constant, ever-growing need for more, and more. The Light is still there, still clinging to the edges. If he fills himself with base want then it will leave him. He fumbles in his haste, but once his fingers find reference he is quick, deft, demanding, pulling Hux’s shoulders back to peel off the jacket and throw it aside. Leave him, leave him, leave him.

Spread the Dark to Hux, sow chaos in the galaxy and all will be right. Hux is breathing harder, almost, almost moaning. He’ll get there. Kylo will get him there. When he rips open Hux’s shirt and presses their chests together, he moans himself, to show Hux the way. Hux’s chest is scarred too, a ropy line running under each pectoral; Kylo understands why his knee to the groin did about as much as kicking Hux in the shin. He shouldn’t have assumed. Categorisation, regulation, compartmentalisation and definition – these are what the Jedi practise, not him.

Hux bites his lip again when Kylo moans, and the sharp pain brings him back to the present, to his hand on the back of Hux’s neck and the planes of their bodies. Hux wraps a leather-clad hand around Kylo’s cock through his trousers. He squeezes, hard, and Kylo rakes his ragged fingernails down Hux’s sides in appreciation.

“Just let go,” Kylo coaxes, cupping a hand to Hux’s crotch. He starts to rub with the heel of his hand, circling – something vibrates in Hux’s belt, and Kylo swears. His kriffing comlink, connecting him to his great chain of order.

Hux pushes Kylo off and steadies his breathing. No, no, no, he’s backsliding. His face is smooth again. “I’m debriefing Ren,” he snaps into the link. “I don’t care what it is, I am not to be disturbed until I’m done.” Then, to Kylo’s delight, Hux drops the device on the floor and crushes it with his boot-heel. “Where were we?” He pulls Kylo’s head down painfully by his hair, like the Hux that Kylo _doesn’t_ quite hate. “I think you were about to bite my neck.”

He’s still fighting for control, losing it on himself and so trying to exert it over Kylo. Kylo obeys anyway, sadistically. He leaves red marks that will surely bruise all the way from Hux’s jaw to his scars, sliding his hands down Hux’s thighs as he bends his knees. Hux jolts with every bite, lips pressed tightly together and head thrown to the side to allow Kylo access.

He wants Hux’s hands on him. His bare hands, on Kylo’s bare skin. He grabs Hux hard by the wrist and rips the glove off smoothly. Hux nearly gasps, leather tearing away from clammy skin so fast that Kylo knows it must hurt. He does it again, with the other glove, but Hux is prepared this time and still doesn’t. Make. A sound.

 

 

Hux’s field of view has shrunk, encompassing himself and Ren alone in their fugue of – oh, fuck – Ren makes an irritated sound. Ren bites Hux’s hip. Hard. Ren tosses aside belt, boots, hands clawing for Hux’s fly. Hux’s molars shred the inside of his cheek holding himself back when fingers slide along his slick folds, and Ren’s thumb finds his clit.

Hold he will. Whatever Ren’s done to him already, baiting him into this part-conflict, part… part what? He wants something from Hux. That much is clear, but Hux does not think it is something he knows how to give. He’s pounding though, and hot, sweating and dripping and ragged, and _he wants something too._

 

 

Trousers are lost somewhere along the way, and they run hands and scrape nails and teeth and lips over one another, not quite shoving, more simply falling to the floor. Kylo tips Hux onto his back, running eager eyes over his body. His shoulders are slimmer without the uniform. His waist curves out into hips that Kylo can’t help, won’t help, but relish.

His earlier grip on Hux’s wrist is already bruising purple, and he can feel that Hux has matched him mark for red mark across their chests. His cock throbs in the cold air, hot and hard. He can hardly wait.

Hux’s eyes are half-lidded, his swollen lips parted and trembling. He digs his fingers into Kylo’s ass, hooks a leg over his shoulder to haul him closer. Kylo reminds himself he doesn’t have to wait. They’re both gasping for it, and maybe this will make Hux –

He holds Hux still by those inviting hips, and drives in all at once, fast enough to hurt them both.

Hux breaks.

 

 

The noise rips its way out of his throat, an agonised keen that carries behind it the weight of everything Hux has felt since that first punch, and more besides. The base, his failure, every moment of his command where he has _not_ reacted, every twitch of the lips that could have been something more. It all goes. There’s room in that moment for nothing beyond the sting of being fucked open so fast; beyond heat and pleasure and relief.

Ren smiles, bent over Hux, his upper lip sheened in sweat. “See?” he pants. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Hux hasn’t used the skill in some time, but he’s kept the muscles maintained, as he does his whole body. It’s worth it when he clenches around Ren’s cock, so much harder than he should be able to, and reaps lightning pleasure from his own cunt and a yell of pain from Ren. “I still hate you,” he groans, laughs, back.

Hate and something else beyond that, mixed into that. Ren recovers and starts to move, no less enthusiastically for the demonstration that Hux could break his dick at the right angle. Hux contributes to Ren’s prosaic back-and-forth by rippling his muscles again, and again, angling his hips so Ren’s cock reaches deeper. Ren moans with every thrust. He shakes, one hand braced beside Hux’s head and the other on his hip. Nowhere near where they _should_ be.

Hux locks his knee around the back of Ren’s neck, pulls his head close, and groans, “You seemed to know what to – ah! fuck – do with your fingers five minutes ago, Ren.”

Ren gets the message, and moves the hand from Hux’s hip to his clit, rubbing over the hood at varying speed, pressing hard at the zenith of each stroke, matching it to the pace of their hips. Hux grunts, and gasps, and then outright moans. Ren smiles. So does Hux.

 

 

Hux’s voice cracked in pleasure is everything Kylo hoped it would be. He chases it as much as he’s chasing his own orgasm, or nearly so. The hot, wet walls of Hux’s cunt around his cock, and the way he can _move_ them – Kylo feels he can barely breathe, doesn’t care, doesn’t want anything more than this, than Hux, than to fuck him until he screams.

He can’t reach Hux’s lips with his own, not with Hux’s leg in the way. There’s blood from his nose, his face, spotted and shiny across Hux’s chest. Kylo bends Hux nearly in half to lick it up. Hux watches.

With every thrust, liquid heat pools between his hips, and Kylo can feel it pushing out. Not there yet, not nearly there. But even without the end goal it’s wonderful, lust blinding him and deadening his senses and his focus and simultaneously flooding him with power.

He needs to use it, direct it at something to know his strength. Hux is all he can see or feel or know, so Kylo wraps constricting tendrils of power about Hux’s hips, his arms, his head, his waist, his legs, his _throat._

Hux stutters, frozen. Kylo squeezes, hard, and then releases and thrusts as deep as he can into Hux, power still locked about his neck enough to let Hux know that he breathes at Kylo’s mercy. Hux moans loud enough that it echoes in the small room, a strangled mess of a noise that Kylo feels resonate through the Force.

Kylo is grateful, has never been more grateful, for the path he’s chosen. What would it be like, to look upon Hux like this and feel nothing? Or to never see this moment at all? No wonder the Jedi fell, if this was the kind of power they refuted. The kind of beauty.

Hux does that – _thing_ again, making pain of the very act of pleasure. Kylo gasps, and lets Hux go. Without directed focus, raw power boils in his heart, firing off at random. Something clatters away to the left but Kylo doesn’t care. Hux uses the distraction to lever his weight forward, twisting Kylo painfully with the leg that has remained on his shoulder. A brief tumble reminiscent of the earlier fight, and Kylo is the one on his back, Hux straddling him and triumphantly brushing sweaty copper hair off his forehead.

 

 

Hux’s thighs quickly begin to ache at the pace he sets, but stop? Now? It’s impossible. The throbbing in his groin is too urgent to disregard; it must be sated, Hux _wants_ it sated, _soon_. He cants his hips when Ren bucks up, and the head of Ren’s cock hits a spot inside him that makes him arch and fucking whimper in ecstasy, and he doesn’t have an iota of thought to spare for the indignity.

Ren struggles to keep his thumb on Hux’s clit at the speed they’re going, and his fumbling efforts are making the throbbing greater without any hope of release. Hux shoves the hand aside and rubs it himself, rolling his whole body down to meet his fingers. Ren wraps an arm around Hux’s back, digging in his fingernails for a grip that won’t slide on Hux’s skin. There’s a jerk. A tug. Hux finds his hands trapped suddenly, held in the air above his head.

He starts to snarl, or whine, at the loss, he can’t tell, but Ren interrupts. “You’re still missing the – missing the point,” he pants.

It starts off as a faint heat, then a shiver, and forms itself into spectral fingers kneading at Hux’s clit. Hux shudders and falters in his rhythm for the barest second at the aberration; when he resumes he uses Ren’s hold on his arms to pull himself up, forcing Ren to bear his weight before he drops it down onto his cock again, and Ren likes it as much as Hux does if the bloody furrows his nails leave across Hux’s back are any indication.

The not-fingers abruptly _sink_. Hux wails, damn near screams. Ren uses his power to massage parts that Hux had known from diagrams but has never felt. The names recall themselves in abstract senselessness ( _crus clitoris, vestibule, corpus cavernosum_ ) with no indication of how it feels when they tremble or the pulsing that Ren spreads from them to Hux’s cunt to between his hips or how his abdomen tightens and trembles, still riding Ren’s cock and dripping with a mix of Ren’s precome and his own. Ren pulls him down and bites his neck and – that’s it.

Hux screams properly when he comes. Shuddering pleasure coalesces around his cunt, wave after wave hammering through his whole body as Ren takes over, continues to pound into him, drive him to the very peak of where his body can take him. Ren is laughing. It’s not a cruel sound.

 

 

Hux screams, and Kylo laughs. Ecstasy; his own, at what he’s done, what he feels; and Hux’s, reverberating through the Force and twining inextricably with Kylo’s. Hux clenches a final, glorious time around Kylo’s cock, riding it through his end and feeding the rush of Kylo’s orgasm as it starts. He clutches Hux to him as all the heat collected in his belly pulls in sharply, focuses in his throbbing cock and pushes him over the edge. Kylo’s hips shove upward, and he empties himself into Hux with a long, blissful moan.

He feels as he did just before he threw that first punch. A swirl of sensations and feelings, input bashing its way through his brain without care for what he processes – but it doesn’t hurt, this time. Hux has somehow soothed that away, and together they are part of the chaos and not mere vessels for it.

 

 

Ren shudders under him a final time, and goes still. His arms are still wrapped tightly around Hux, and Hux lets them stay there, hearing nothing more than their ragged breathing. He cards his fingers through Ren’s dark hair, and lets Ren caress the oozing scratches across his shoulders. The gentleness is somehow as much a part of the affair as the violence has been; indulgences, palliatives, both.

It’s some time before they move, damp chests stinging to be peeled apart. Hux is a mess, can feel the beginnings of concern, of disgust at his state – how will he explain _this_? But he doesn’t quite _care_ yet.

His only regret is that he can’t be like Ren; can’t stay in that state of total abandon forever. Refuses to. No matter what Ren thinks, no matter how good it feels, one can’t rule the galaxy with passion alone.

But he might keep Ren by his side for when such things are needed.

**Author's Note:**

> track me down and yell at me for this shit on tumblr at nonbinarygreywarden


End file.
